Archive for September, 2007

I wake up around ten-ish and play some Full Tilt for a bit, before taking a shower and finally braving the boiling outside world.

Harley and I drop Jen off at her friend Michelle’s house for an all-girl pool party, then the tyke and I head to the Farmer’s Market. We get some soft serve, cheese steaks, corn dogs, and I introduce the fruit of my loins to funnel cake (a sentiment that vaguely smacks of obscenity, I know; but the only thing obscene about it is how sinfully wrong funnel cake is to ingest). On the way out, we buy twenty bucks worth of gourmet dog treats for the mutts back home, and a pair of Webkinz for the kid. We’re sweating like website moderators by the time we get to the car, so we blast the a.c. and do what any right-thinking individuals who wanna get outta the heat do: we drive down to Long Beach to hit the Aquarium.

Big mistake, as the line to get in is not only longer than my dick, but longer than my dick if you measured it every day since I was born and added those figures together for a sum total of inches/feet. A good parent would wait in line, but a) Jen’s the good parent, b) it’s 105 degrees outside according to the thermostat in the dash, and c) she’s seen plenty fish and shit in Aquarium’s around the world over the previous eight years. Mercifully, there’s a sweet, indoors and air conditioned Game Works across the street, so I take her there instead. We blow $140 to win five small stuffed toys from the claw machine (a Bart, a Mickey, a Daisy, and two Stitches) as well as three Tootsie Roll banks with skeeball tickets. On the way home, we use the GPS to locate a pair of Donut shops that don’t seem to exist anymore, then ultimately grab a pair of burritos and some waters.

The GPS device was a gift from Mewes last Christmas, which sat in my office for eight months before I finally mustered the courage to investigate it further. Having become a big fan of the Nev-R-Lost GPS system in most Hertz rental cars, I figured it was finally time to plug in the Mewes-gifted version to see if I could program it. As it turns out, all the programming I had to do was turn the unit on. Now, I live and die by this machine, which allows the user to choose from different accents and genders for the vocal prompts (I chose the British woman’s voice). Even when I know exactly where I’m going and how to get there, I still employ the unit – if for no other reason than to hear it say “Recalculating” when I deviate from the suggested path. Indeed, I’ve stopped listening to the satellite radio or the iPod in the car, as I find the polite-but-firm GPS commands so soothing.

We get home around six, grab Jen from the house, and shoot back down to the Farmer’s Market – which is now twice as hot as earlier and three times as crowded. Finding the soft serve stand closed, we settle for soft serve yogurt instead and then beat a hasty retreat out of there, stopping at the M Cafe’ on the way home, so Jen can grab her vegetarian tidbits.

Gail and Byron get home from Big Bear and once Harley’s in bed, I climb back into the car to once again drop my ol’ lady off at a party I’m not gonna attend – this one a going away shindig for Chay at Julie’s house. Instead of heading home immediately after, I drive around “writing” in my head, while the GPS leads me to the only 24 hour bagel joint in the area: Western Bagel over in Van Nuys. I secure a dozen, grab some cream cheese and a chocolate milk, then head back home, stopping first at Virgin to grab some new DVDs, then at Yummy, to pick up some turkey breast and chocolate covered pretzels for me, and peanut butter and chocolate ice cream for Schwalbach’s return.

I make a sandwich and start watching “The Night Porter.” When Jen gets home, I’m knee-deep in Full Tilt, so I’m not very receptive to her advances, which proves I’m either a) too addicted to online poker, or b) gay. We pop in “Red Rock West” while Jen digs into her ice cream, subsequently falling asleep. I finish the flick while getting my ass handed to me at the tables, then fall asleep myself, dreaming of being a better poker player.

Monday

I get up around nine or so and say good morning to the kid, before burying myself in the bedroom office to tackle the “Red State” redraft.

Based on Scott’s notes, I take the script from 96 pages to 89 pages. It’s easily the shortest feature script I’ve ever written, since there’s not nearly as much dialogue in “Red State” as in my other flicks, and it’s the dialogue that usually gets my page count up around the 120 average. But that 89 pages is somewhat deceptive, as there are long stretches of descriptive text that will skew the page-a-minute ratio. In other words, the flick won’t be 89 minutes; it’ll probably be closer to two hours.

After finishing the redraft, I kick back with Schwalbach for awhile and crack open the DVD box set of “The Closer.” By the end of the first episode, I’m hooked. We watch two more episodes before Harley gets back from seeing a movie with Byron and Gail. I hit my office again and get back to work on the “Heroes: Origins” script that I’d put aside to tackle “Red State.” I write about 17 pages and call it a night, writing-wise.

Jen and I put Harley to bed and retire ourselves with more eps of “The Closer.” I finish out the remainder of my Full Tilt account, opting to put aside online poker altogether for a little while, then fall asleep.
—————————Hey kids! New SModcast!

SModcast 27: Scott-Land

In which, after too long an absence, Mos finally returns… and has his heterosexuality repeatedly called into question. Also: a contest!